


Flares

by anna_sun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crying, Demon!Dean, Guilt, Love, M/M, angsty, cry - Freeform, well he was a demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_sun/pseuds/anna_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the darkness all alone, and no one cares. There's no one there. </p><p> </p><p>Dean's not a demon anymore and even if he's ''Welcome back, Dean'', he really doesn't feel like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flares

**Author's Note:**

> ''Based'' on the song Flares by The Script (I don't know I just listened to that song a lot and DEAN WINCHESTER/DESTIEL was all that popped into my head every time, whatever-this-is was much needed.)
> 
> SPOILERS FOR BEGINNING OF SEASON 10. 
> 
> Because you know this totally happened, none of that ''Does Sammy want a divorce?'' and ''You look good'' crap. Full on angst and crying and heartbreaking stuff happened when Dean came back to himself. Believe me.

No. No, no, no. That's all Dean can hear, can think, when he opens his eyes, a repetitive, loud and clear No. He feels like he just woke up from a never-ending nightmare, and maybe the memories are blurry right now, like fog in his brain, but he remembers enough. He remembers enough for his hands to clench up into fists, for him to bite his tongue until it feels numb and he feels weak, so weak, and no, no, no. The way his heart beats is a strange reminder of how he felt about 6 years ago, when the simple thought of becoming the monster he is today made him feel sick to his stomach, to his core. Humanity had always been the only ''good'' thing he had left for himself, a burden he always should have been happy to carry, but he couldn't help but always feel like that was what made him beatable, weak, in the first place.  

Now he knew that loosing his humanity truly meant loosing everything, loosing the only thing that was somewhat good about him. 

He moves for the first time since he's been back then, only turns his head to look around himself from a new point of view, not from the eyes of a captive, and he catches the eyes of his brother. He looks drained, from emotions, from peace, from hope. Dean had always thought that he was the broken one, and the realization that he could never be more broken than right now hit him more than all the punches he received in the last months. But when he understands the pain in his brother's eyes, he knows that Sammy won't heal, won't come back from this like he always does. 

And maybe that was one of the many things he wouldn't be able to forgive himself about, the hardest of them all. 

He died, Dean died months ago and came back to life, twisted and wrong and dark, black from the inside out. He could remember how it felt, like there was smoke travelling in his veins, he could still taste the bitterness of burned ashes in his mouth. He couldn't believe that he actually liked it. He loved all of it, his sick self was happy with the disease. He came back to life, but deep down he knew that he was still dead, that he would never feel alive again. There wasn't enough naked girls and booze and music in the world to put his pieces back together now. He was done. 

And to think that that was only him. All the people he had hurt, all the people who were still hurting because of him, and right now he couldn't remember half of it, his own mind probably defending itself against all the pain, but he knew. He didn't need to see the blood he had poured, didn't need to see it all to know. The memories would soon come back to him, and Dean didn't even know if he could handle it. 

He was anything but the strong and righteous man he once was, and maybe it all started in hell, maybe it all started a lot sooner than that. Maybe he never was. 

It was beginning to be too much already, the last thing anyone said being ''Welcome back, Dean.'' when Sammy opened his mouth to finally talk to his brother again. The silence was anything but peaceful, his heartbeat thumping against the sides of his skull, his hands still cuffed to the chair. They weren't strangely burning his wrists in an overwhelming sensation anymore, and it was weird to realize that not 15 minutes ago they felt like hell, not really hurting but keeping him inside himself, trapped in his own body. Still, even if they weren't as useful anymore, he wanted them off as soon as possible so he could get away, stop the pressure in his chest at the reminder that he actually needed to be tied up in the first place, just like any other monster he had done this to too many times. 

 _Let me go_ , he thinks, because he wants nothing more but to get out of the compressing room, get out from under his brother's gaze, and the three simple words bring back memories he had still buried deep inside himself. The first thing he had done when his eyes turned black in his wake was to think about Sammy, think about how he would go after him, wouldn't let him be happy for once. He thought about how his brother had always been the one thing keeping him from being free, even if it wasn't even Sam's fault but destiny's and his undying love for his little brother. Still, now that it that moment he didn't feel anything but disgust and pity for the guy, he was finally free. And so he had written on a damn piece of paper the same three words, but they meant so much more. He thought things, he had feelings he never thought could ever be true. Dean wanted to believe that they didn't mean anything, because he loves his brother, and that it wasn't the real him but he didn't know anymore. 

He didn't know anything but pain and regret at this point.

He wanted to tug at the cuffs restraining his hands, wanted to tell Sammy to hurry the hell up and to yell at him to stop staring because he wasn't a goddamn lion in a zoo, but he couldn't find the strength to open his mouth and say those things, he couldn't bother trying to be even close to the sarcastic brother Sammy always knew him as. And so suddenly his head turned on it's own and he found himself staring into blue eyes, blue eyes he knew but somehow forgot were there too. The sight of Castiel was as painful as being stabbed in the chest, over and over and over, until he died from heartache.

All of the sudden he's screaming. He screams as loud as he can, as loud as he dares. He finally tugs at the cuffs, hopefully making the men standing in front of him realize that he wants them off, and he shakes his head, and maybe there are tears streaming down his cheeks and making the corners of his mouth taste salty but he doesn't know, he doesn't care. Because he can't bear the way Castiel is looking at him now, all hurt and disappointed, his body tense and his hands tugged in his trench coat. Castiel looks _scared_ , and so Dean almost doesn't notice Sam getting out of the cramped space, the door of the adjacent room filled with men of letters boxes and paperwork closing in a loud 'bam' behind him after the nod Castiel gave to him, in a way to say ''It's okay, I'll handle this.''. Because now he needs to be handled. Still, he can feel his heart in his throat and a distinct buzz in his ears, and Sammy's broken now, and he never felt so defeated, and all he can do is continue to scream like he never did before. 

Castiel kneels in front of him. 

Not on one knee like people did for kings in the past in a sign of respect and submission. No, Castiel lets himself fall on the ground in one rough and single motion after the two steps he made towards Dean, resulting in the angel being in the Devil's trap along with him, and Dean's scream dies in his throat. He never heard of any angel kneeling in front of someone other than god, if He could be considered a someone, and Dean doesn't want to see the gesture as some sort of complete faith and trust in him from Cas but he kind of does, for a fraction of second. It doesn't stop the fast beating of his heart and his headache, or the tears that seemed to never stop, but now Dean's staring at a dark mop of hair he knows oh so well and he realizes that he's not the only one hurting because of this. He doesn't have to be alone, and maybe that single thought makes it hard to breathe because damn it he shouldn't hope like this, shouldn't _love_ like this, platonic or not, because he never learns. He never learns, he never learns, he never learns. Everybody leaves and if Castiel, in some sick way, has faith in him, Dean can't let himself feel the same.

Everybody leaves.

It's complete, utter silence for a while, and Dean tries to not let his own masochist mind destroy itself with all its thoughts. He concentrates on Castiel's bottom lip and on the curve of his shoulder, he lets himself be fascinated by the way his hair sticks out in the most perfect ways and the only thing he can do is sigh and close his eyes. Of course nothing's better, but at least when Dean opens his eyes again, ready to face his friend without a strangled sob sneaking out of his mouth, he finds the angel's hands on his wrists and the cuffs broken by grace. He can finally walk out of the room he's been bounded to for what seemed like an eternity now, but strangely he doesn't really want to anymore. Because out there, it's responsibilities and Sammy and he feels like a child but he wants to avoid it all for the longest time possible. 

They sit for a while, or at least he sits and Castiel stays on his knees, his forehead gently pressing against Dean's own knee and okay, Dean wants badly to pass his fingers in between Cas' hair and to let himself fall on the floor, too. But he's still fucking crying and he can't stop and everything's just too much.

''Cas,'' he says instead of letting the silence eat them all and damn it even his voice sounds broken, the two syllables of Castiel's nickname falling in between his lips in a whisper.

Of course Castiel looks up, and Dean's glad he doesn't have to say ''Get up'' when Castiel does actually that on his own. Dean decides to get up too, and his legs feel too weak to support his body, and now everything seems too real because _he's not a demon anymore_ but this awful side of him didn't left without leaving a trace. It's like the fire's out but it still burns, and Dean kind of hates himself more when he realizes he doesn't know if he would have preferred to stay in the flames. Yesterday he was oblivious and happy, and Dean hadn't felt so careless in a long time. 

He had wanted to kill Sammy. 

That's what he did when he was careless and happy, he killed people. Good, innocent people who sure as hell didn't deserve any of the crap he pulled on them. Dean feels like he's breaking all over again, his own voice in his head shattering his already broken pieces even more. He can feel Castiel's intense gaze on him and for a second he's afraid the angel is reading his thoughts, and then he decides he doesn't care if he is. Because if Castiel is actually reading his mind then the silence doesn't seem to bad after all, and who cares if Castiel knows how fucking miserable he is right now? Maybe he'll feel bad for bringing him back from hell in the first place. Or maybe Castiel can find a way to erase it all, to make it all better, because Dean doesn't know how he could ever be even close to better without some angelic powers involved. Because that's what angels are supposed to do in books and legends and fairy tales: make it all better.  

Dean laughs. He looks up, eyes still looking like glass because of the tears unwilling to leave, and laughs. The sound is broken too, and he probably looks like a maniac but he does, in one strangled breath. It's not much and almost sounds like a deformed sob, but it's still a laugh that leaves some kind of sick smile on his face. He can't remember how many times he said that angels were dicks, can't remember how many times he thought right afterwards ''But not Cas though.'' Cas is always the exception to the rule, always should be the one able to help, the truly good angel maybe.

By the look Dean reads on his face, he knows that today, Castiel is powerless to his pain. And maybe the fact that he's there, that he cares, is enough. Or at least it should be. 

Suddenly there's arms wrapped around his body and Dean doesn't remember thinking that he wanted a hug but he decides it's not the worst idea of all. Castiel hugs tighter, and Dean finds himself wrapping his arms around the other's body too, and when he closes his eyes he doesn't hear the voice in his head louder or feel fear, no, right then, the darkness behind his eyelids makes him feel safe. 

It's only when he opens his eyes again, not quite ready to let go yet that he realizes they're not in the dungeon anymore. He's thankful for it, glad he isn't freezing anymore, the warmth of his bedroom and of Castiel getting a sigh out of his mouth. 

The feeling of relief doesn't last long. Because as soon as he starts to think he'll be okay, there's this sudden rush of guilt that travel from his guts all the way to his throat, making it hard to breathe, and he finds himself pushing Cas away from his arms. He doesn't even know how he managed to, maybe Castiel was taken by surprise, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter that Cas is strong enough to destroy a skyscraper with his pinky toe and that the simple fact that Dean was able to push him away from himself, especially since he had his arms firmly wrapped around his body, was beyond weird. Dean didn't care for the look of pity and sorrow in Castiel's eyes when he understands that Dean just rejected him. Dean can almost see the walls building up all around himself and he wouldn't be surprised if Castiel could see them too.

''Go,'' he hears himself say as he turns around, looking at his unmade bed and at a mostly finished bottle of beer on his nightstand. It felt like years ago but he still remembers drinking it when starting season 3 of Game of Thrones on Sammy's laptop, cursing Charlie in his head for making him watch it in the first place. He doesn't know what to think, because all of it strangely feels like his life was put on hold when he was killed by the hands of Metatron and changed into a demon, knight of hell, by Crowley.  

Crowley. 

Dean wants to vomit. 

He can't just press play and come back to the way everything was before all of it. Because his life was definitely put on hold, that's the best way Dean can think of describing it, and now he doesn't know if Sammy expects him to just continue and push everything down and try to be Dean Winchester again. He believes that's what he would have done once, but now he doesn't know if he can do it. Doesn't know if it's even possible. 

Cas is still in the room, secretly watching him, not moving by an inch and blatantly ignoring Dean's request of leaving him alone. Dean's brain is so fucked up that for a second he thinks that maybe Castiel didn't hear him, and so he repeats himself, tries to say the simple word in a more firm tone and ignores the way his eyes well up with tears as the word leaves his lips.

''Why?'' is Castiel's only answer, and suddenly Dean's angry. He hadn't felt so many emotions in such short notice since the day Sam died in his arms for the first time with a wound on his back, and Dean just feels angry. 

But he can't talk. He doesn't deserve to be fixed up by anyone, not by an angel or by Sammy, he deserves to lie down on his bed and die. And so he's angry at himself and at Crowley and at God and everything in between, he's angry at the picture of his mom on his desk and at the guns on his wall, angry at everything. 

He figures it's not really a surprise for anyone when he starts to crash all of his belongings, throws the contents of his drawers on the floor and his desk, too. Starts to feel blood dripping on his knuckles when he punches the wall too hard and over and over again. He feels his throat burning, and it's only then that he realizes he's been screaming the words ''go away'' and ''I don't need this'' in between the awful screeches of his own voice.

It's too much and the last thing Dean sees is Castiel's face when he turns around, and the last thing he feels is fingers on his forehead.

Everything stops all at once.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos to you if you could find the lyrics references in this  
> kudos to me if you liked the fic  
> kudos to your parents for making you (now you definitely have to leave kudos on this because I just complimented you)
> 
> Comments are also really really really appreciated. I cry.


End file.
